Page 59 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Makenna swiveled on her heel to face their attackers. She was now gasping for breath. Next to her, Bran’s chest rose and fell sharply as he also struggled to catch his breath. However, like her, his gaze was trained west, at where the enemy approached. Their torches glowed like fireflies in the dark, the outlines of horses and dogs frosted by moonlight clearly visible now.
As if sensing her stare, he glanced her way then, before a harsh smile tugged at his lips. “Ready to deal with the Campbells?”
Fire ignited in Makenna’s belly as she nodded.
A crimson sunrise spilled over the sky at dawn, almost as if the blood that had flowed on the shore of Loch Tay had stained the heavens as well.
Victorious, the MacGregors left the bodies of their Campbell pursuers sprawled amongst the heather, took their horses, and set off east. A few of their men had been injured in the fight, but nothing serious. Once they returned to Meggernie, Garia would tend to them.
The bloodhounds didn’t follow the MacGregors, for once they realized their masters were beaten, they’d fled back in the direction of Finlarig. The MacGregors didn’t dare celebrate yet though, for there was a chance Black Duncan would send more warriors in pursuit. And as they rode side-by-side under the warm sun, listening to the flutelike whistle of thrushes, Bran found himself glancing often over his shoulder.
“Let them dare follow us,” Makenna muttered. Looking her way, he saw that her hand then strayed to the dirk at her hip. His wife’s expression was fierce this morning, her lovely face pale and splattered with blood. Lloyd’s death had left its mark upon her.
Bran’s chest constricted.
This woman was truly unique. He could travel the length and breadth of Scotland and never find her like. They’d come close to being separated forever back at Finlarig Castle, something that had hardened his resolve to fight back. He couldn’t lose Makenna.
“It was a near thing back there,” he admitted after a pause. “Tormod was close to besting me.”
“The whoreson was a fiend with a blade,” she replied. “That’s why I interfered.”
“Aye,” he answered roughly. “I’m not foolish enough to be vexed about that.” He winced then. “Although I’ll admit, my pride was dented at the time.”
“Ye killed him though. I gave ye that, at least.” Makenna was watching him intently now.
“Ye did,” he answered quietly. “I’d vowed to … for what he did to ye.”
Their gazes fused then, the moment drawing out. A faint flush rose to her cheekbones, her eyes softening. “Thank ye, Bran,” she murmured.
He swallowed. He wanted to tell her that he’d take on the devil himself to protect her. However, he was now painfully self-conscious. Things were still new between them, and he had no idea how she might respond to such a declaration.
Ahead, the rest of their party traveled in exhausted silence. None of them had rested during the night. There would be time to do so when they reached MacGregor lands once more. Once they were certain no one followed them.
Tearing his gaze from Makenna’s, Bran cleared his throat. “I wish to apologize.”
“For what?”
He glanced her way again, to find a groove etched between her eyebrows. “For being so heavy-handed … when we spoke of how things would be when we returned to Dùn Ara.” He broke off there, his embarrassment growing. “I was an arse.”
She snorted a laugh. “Och, with everything that’s happened, I’d forgotten about that.” She pulled a face. “Thank ye for reminding me.”
“Aye, well … I’m sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair, wishing he was better with words. “And I want ye to know that I will never again tell ye to put down yer blade.”
Her gaze widened. “Ye won’t?”
“No, I give ye my word. I said those things out of fear, Makenna.”
She stiffened. “Ye did?”
“Aye … fear of failing ye … of losing ye.” He stopped there, his throat painfully tight.
Meanwhile, his wife continued to watch him, her green eyes softening.
Exhaling sharply, Bran pushed on. “But I know better now. Ye are a warrior. If I took that from ye, ye’d wither … like a wildflower torn from a meadow.” He paused, swallowing. “I want to see ye bloom at Dùn Ara … for ye to havepurposethere.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So, ye won’t grumble when I ask to spar with ye?”
“No … just as long as ye trainonlywith me.” A wave of possessiveness swept over him. He meant it too. Makenna could handle herself, yet he didn’t want any of his men leering at her or using training to take liberties.